Sometimes, in a quest for aimless flight, and no more responsibility for a short while, to be a temporary butterfly, would be joyous, as I could flutter in my vibrant colors of sky blue, goldenrod, and black, over the tops of swaying weeping willows. Just for a moment, I'd alight on an amazed child's nose, and flutter among the honeysuckle vines, sharing my bliss with the busy hummingbirds that faithfully fly from flower to flower. And when the noonday sun passes high over the ivy covered white wooden arch, I'd fold my wings closed, to sleep in the cool June eventide, just as the fireflies b

found along an ancient map
where we sailed in an old, wooden boat

bobbing among the ways
brushing against imagined sea monsters
 
where they roared
and children stared

into the black expanse
guided by the Northern Lights